The Queen of Hearts
by theelegantwalrus
Summary: FULL SUMMARY INSIDE The Queen of Hearts / She made some tarts, / All on a summer's day; / The Knave of Hearts / He stole those tarts, / And took them clean away.
1. SUMMARY

The Queen of Hearts

She made some tarts,

All on a summer's day;

The Knave of Hearts

He stole those tarts,

And took them clean away.

-x-x-x-

Regina Watson - more commonly known as Queenie - the youngest of the Watson, fell into crime at a young age, trespassing on private property with a group of free-runners.

At the age of eighteen, Queenie disappeared, seemingly off the surface of the planet, following the end of her education, with only a note to each of her family members offering any clue to her whereabouts.

Time continued with the youngest Watson being presumed dead, however a handful of people knew the truth, Queenie was well, alive and deep in hiding, but most importantly, in training, learning to use her skills developed through her criminal activity to help the British Government. Until one of the few people she classed as truly safe, became room mates with the brother she had left with no explanation years prior.


	2. 0

Regina "Queenie" Emily Watson was the youngest of the Watson siblings.

She felt crushed with the pressure of having an older brother and sister constantly weighed on her, she thought, even as she grew older, it was no question why she had been drawn to crime.

Nothing severe, no murder, no breaking and entering, just running, climbing and a lot of weed. The feeling of her feet pounding on the rooftop of a building and the rush of jumping between two buildings.

She had become a skilled free-runner by the time she was due to sit her A-level examinations, it was at this point that a tall, well dressed, young man spoke to her in private.

"My name is Mycroft Holmes, do you know who I am?" He asked. As Queenie adorned a hoodie - three sizes too big for her in a faded teal green colour - a t-shirt she had been sleeping in and a pair of leggings, along with her scuffed trainers, she felt slobbish in comparison to the suited man.

"Mycroft Holmes, you just told me. Not enough for me to know you a person, but enough to know your name, and that you're middle class working for a large corporation." She took in his suit and his face that had turned from a serious frown to a small smirk.

"Here," he passed a file to the eighteen year old she took it in her scarred and battle worn hands, from being scraped up against walls, metal and concrete over several years, "this is your brief, you are expected to take it."

She flicked through the file, pages upon pages of it had information on her small gang, all female, some older than her, yet she, of all eight of them, was the most talented.

"We want to take your skills and let you utilise them."

"In complete secret? Even from my family?"

"Complete and utter secrecy. If you take this on, you may never have the chance to see them again. After your examinations, of course."

"Can I sleep on it?"

"No."

"Then I'll accept."

Four notes sat on the Watson's dining room table, one for each person, one for John and one for her Mother, both clearly tear stained, one for Harry, the hand had been calm during this point, as they could tell from the letter to her father, her hand had clearly shook until the letter was illegible in places.

Queenie Watson was last seen the day she finished her A-Levels.

 **Welp. Welcome to Queen of Hearts, I have 36 A4 pages of this wrote in size 11 Arial already**  
 **-Ellie**


	3. 1

It had been only a few weeks, nearing a month, since John and Sherlock had moved into 221B Baker Street when the doorbell rang, as per usual, Mrs Hudson answered the door, the sound of a male voice rumbled from the floor below briefly and then the door shut.

"Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson called, running up the stairs as fast as her hips would allow her, "Sherlock? This just arrived for you." She held her hand out to him, "He said it was an urgent message for you." She held a postcard in her hand.

"Read it out loud." Sherlock demanded, fiddling with his so called 'experiment'.

"Well, all it says is _Buckingham Palace is occupied_ and there's a drawing of a crown, look!" She held the postcard to John, who walked towards the landlady - who took her leave immediately - and took the postcard, he read it and let a sigh out, he could feel a case coming on.

" _Buckingham Palace is occupied_?" John asked.

"Yes, open the window." Sherlock didn't looked up from his experiment - mixing various poisons with severed toes.

"What does _Buckingham Palace is occupied_ mean?" He questioned, walking towards the window.

"It means open the damn window, John."

John did as he was told, pushing the window up, as he returned to his seat, a person flew through the window, legs first, slid across the table, yet landed neatly on their feet.

"Room at the end of the corridor." Sherlock indicated with a single wave of his hand, and the person disappeared without a glance at John.

"Who the hell was that?" He hissed as he heard the door to Sherlock's bedroom snap shut.

"A friend. We have an ongoing arrangement, she does work for me when I need it, and I offer her a bed when she needs one."

"She?" A shocked facial expression flickered across the Doctor's face, "You have a girlfriend?"

"I wouldn't call it as such, more a mutually beneficial cooperative relationship." Sherlock rolled his eyes at the comedic expression on John's face.

"Sherlock has a girlfriend." He smirked. "Who climbs buildings and enters a house through the second floor windows." He sighed, "What work does she do for you? Get you your fresh toes?"

"No, Molly gives me my body parts, obviously." He looked up, "She's an excellent masseuse."

"Molly?" John blinked in surprise.

"No, her." He indicated his bedroom, now containing the mysterious - to John at the least - girl.

"Oh, well-" John stammered, "Wh-why, why did she have to come through the window?"

"It's what she does, the same way you just keep dating women."

 _Typical Sherlock bloody Holmes._ He thought to himself as he picked up his newspaper.

Queenie woke from her nap, slightly confused from her sudden return to consciousness - she quickly grew to realise that the front door had been slammed - she slipped from the messy bedroom to messier bathroom, her body was stiff and, Jesus, she felt awful. She had a shoebox under her arm, having retrieved it from it's hiding place in Sherlock's room, opening it to find the pair of pyjamas and the clean change of clothes she had stored still there.

She turned the hot tap on, waited a few seconds and put the plug into the plug hole, turning the cold tap to ensure the bath didn't turn her into a human lobster.

"Excuse me?" A familiar voice coughed through the door, "Do you want a drink or anything? Tea? Water?"

"I'm fine." She removed her final layers as she spoke, she could still sense the man standing on the other side of the door, he thought for a moment before speaking this time.

"Have we ever met?" He asked, "It's just I recognise your voice."

"I've been around a lot." She looked at her naked form in the mirror, a bruise was forming over her eye and the gash she had presumed was healing had torn open and had begun to bleed, she grabbed a cloth, put it into the bath water before placing on her shoulder, she hissed at the pain.

"Are you hurt? I'm a doc-"

"I know! I'm fine, go away." She snapped, she listened to him sigh, grumble a goodbye and trudge away down the hall. The mirror was fogged from the steam now arising from the near full bath, she turned both taps off and plunged her sore body into the water. She allowed herself to relax, she was in one of the few places that she could really call safe, especially with the added comfort of a face of a doctor who had once been so familiar to her.

"How long are you staying?" Sherlock asked Queenie, she had emerged from Sherlock's bedroom, wearing a pair of long trousers and a purple shirt that Sherlock recognised as his own, once she had received a text reading:

 **He's gone to bed  
-SH**

"I don't know." She stood in the doorway, shrouded by shadow, "A lot's happened recently."

"Coffee?" He suggested.

"Jesus Christ, yes." She laughed.

Mugs of coffee in the hands of both people, they sat, Sherlock in his seat and Queenie in John's, they spoke casually, Sherlock of his most recent experiment, while Queenie told the tales of her most recent mission.

By the time the mugs had been emptied and filled several occasions and the sun's early morning light was filling the room, Queenie was half asleep in her brother's arm chair, underneath Sherlock's eyes had became dark with shadows.

"You have a tattoo." He observed, sleep clear in his voice.

"I do, you're so very correct, as usual." She lifted her trouser leg to show a simple design, a playing card.

"The Queen of Hearts?" He questioned, one eyebrow raised.

"Seemed fitting, since our old Mikey boy isn't putting me to much use anymore." A tone of bitterness and resentment in her voice made Sherlock grin, "It does mean I can do more things." She nodded slightly, "How did you know about my tattoo?"

"Saw it when you ran in, you were wearing shorts."

"That's why I have a graze there." She sighed in relief, "Thought I had done something stupid."

"You probably did, people do that."

"Do what? Wear shorts?"

"Do stupid things." He paused, looking over Queenie's shoulder, "When you say _more things,_ does that include speaking to your family?" Sherlock asked with a casual air about him, attempting to hide his smirk.

"Bit late to be asking that, isn't it, John?" She turned her body to face behind her. John stood, frozen to the spot, in the kitchen.

"My, my, John." Sherlock mused, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

 **First actual chapter! Thank you so much to the people who reviewed, it's like when you get an extra chicken nugget in ur McDonalds hell yeah**  
 **I hope you enjoyed!**  
 **-Ellie**


	4. 2

It took several seconds for John to realise what he was seeing. His sister, who he'd last seen over eight years prior, him and his parents had assumed long dead, and yet here she was, in his seat, grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

"Queenie?" John finally broke his stunned silence

"Yes?" She raised an eyebrow at her brother's confusion, "Is he usually this dim? He was studying at Bart's when I left." She hissed to Sherlock.

"You're dating my sister?" John was staring straight past his sister to Sherlock, Queenie let out a snort of laughter, "What?"

"I've just appeared in your living room, eight years after I fell off the Earth and you think I'm dating Sherlock?" She shook her head, smiling still, "I wouldn't say dating, no, we have a mutually beneficial cooperative relationship."

"So I've heard." John glared at the duo, Queenie's smiled faltered as she watched the person she had missed more than anyone look so miserable, "Queenie, where the hell did you go? I thought you had died!" He walked over to his sister and began examining her, checking her arms and legs for injuries.

"I'm fine, John, I promise." She spoke softly, then flinched as she felt John put pressure on the gash on her shoulder, "It's just taking awhile to heal. It's old." John raised his eyebrows, "I've finished the job." She looked up to meet Sherlock's eyes, "I'm changing divisions."

"Hm. Can't imagine Mycroft is very happy about that."

"Mycroft?"

"He was fuming, he actually sent me a text, even though he could have easily spoke to me."

"How do you know Mycroft?" John watched the duo converse, ignoring his questions.

"He could have? How did you know?"

"He was in the same room as me, pouting, like a child."

"That's Mycroft for you." Sherlock's mouth twitched at the corner.

"What the HELL is going on?"

"John, do you remember what I used to do for kicks when I was at home?"

"Weed?" He suggested, Sherlock smirked and chuckled softly.

"Free-running." She corrected, "I was approached by the British Government, namely, Mycroft Holmes, in the street first, I refused to speak to him." She shrugged, "He looked like a cop, so I snapped his umbrella."

"As you do." Sherlock shrugged.

"Exactly." She shook her head in amusement, "He then set up a meeting with me at college - didn't recognise him - I was given the choice to go and train for two years, honing my skills for good, to help 'Queen and country'," She let out a small laugh, "I became a secret agent for the British Secret Service." Queenie looked at her older brother with her brows knitted together, "I couldn't tell you, or anyone, you would've been in so much danger, John, I've been so many different people in these last few years."

"Queenie, it's a bit far-fetched-"

"Believe me, John, I missed you and Harry and our parents." John looked unconvinced, "Believe me." She insisted.

"How do I know it's you?"

"Oh, for pity sake, John! I can tell you it's her!" Sherlock interrupted.

"Shut it." Queenie snapped, Sherlock looked confused, "I can prove it's me." John made a gesture for her to continue, "I told you to keep one thing, Pablo."

"Pablo!" John threw his arms up, "Pablo! Of course!" John ranted, stood, "Still doesn't mean it's you."

"Pablo is my knitted penguin, originally black and white, black bow-tie and bright orange beak and feet. Made for me when I was a baby, he was bigger than me when I was born, but I never wanted any other toy, he's been patched seventeen times."

John became silent, he lifted his hand and brushed his fingertips behind her ears, feeling the small scar behind it. And then he walked out the room, disappearing up the staircase.

"What do I do now?" Queenie mouthed to Sherlock, who shrugged in return, John however, re-entered the room, holding a tattered stuffed penguin.

"Here."

"Pablo." She grinned, taking the penguin and hugging it, her arms covering the body so only the head poked up from her clutch, "I think I'm going to get some sleep, wake me up if Mycroft comes over, I need to knee him the groin."

"Will do." Sherlock partially raised his hand as a sign of assent. Neither John or Sherlock spoke until Sherlock's bedroom door opened and closed. John didn't look at Sherlock directly, the damn bastard had known about Queenie still being alive, yet hadn't mentioned it, not once since they had ever first met, nor had Mycroft, he felt less angry with Mycroft, thinking there was surely many secrets he kept hidden from both him and the rest of the world. And yet Queenie knew both of the Holmes brothers, likely more than John knew her.

"Breakfast?" Sherlock suggested, jumping up from his seat, taking John by surprise.

"Just a coffee for me." John sat heavily in the seat his sister had sat in for hours.

"We need milk." A beat passed, "And coffee." The fridge Sherlock had opened slammed shut, "And food."

"I'll go shopping then, shall I? I'm going to want to talk to my sister properly when she wakes up."

"Right you are." Sherlock sat back in his seat, opening the book he had left on the table and flipping to the page he had marked with an envelope. Mrs Hudson appeared at the doorway, looking harassed.

"Sherlock, this man's been knocking on the door for half an hour," She allowed a man to enter, from his attire, all three present could tell he was a Sikh Warrior, "he seems angry." She added in an undertone. John pulled a wooden chair out from under the table, placing in between the two armchairs.

"Thank you." He replied, lowering himself into the chair slowly, not taking his eyes off the detective, "I have came to you about The Jaria Diamond." John heard no more, he shut the door to the stairway, as he went to close the front door, a soft thud filtered through the ceiling.

"Boring." Sherlock sneered to the warrior, "Goodbye."

"What?" He asked, a fire igniting in his eyes, "You cannot refuse my case!"

"I just did. Please leave and try not to make too much noise, I have guest who's still asleep." Sherlock made to open the door leading into the stairway, but was stopped as the warrior pulled a curved sword from his belt and placed the bladed edge to his neck, a grin spread across Sherlock's face, "Not so boring." He stated before landing a sharp blow on the Warrior's left cheek with his fist.

 **Thank you to the lovely people who have reviewed again!  
** **I hope that you enjoyed the chapter, as I'm sure you can tell, this is the start of The Blind Banker, hopefully over the next few chapters, you'll see just how badass Queenie is! (Help! I'm in love with my OC? She's rad?)  
Until the next chapter!**  
 **-Ellie**


	5. 3

A series of loud thuds prevented Queenie from being able to sleep. Grudgingly, she recognised the sounds of a fight and removed herself from the bed, in well practised silence, she opened the door and entered the main area of the flat through the kitchen to find Sherlock in the midst of a battle with a blade wielding a sword, reading the scenario, she made her way to the other entrance to the living room, opening the door violently.

"Oi!" She shouted, the attacker stopped, apparently shocked by Queenie's arrival, Sherlock, punched him with all the strength he could muster and the attacker was knocked out.

"Thank you," Sherlock panted, "Oh," he caught sight of Queenie's attire, "you may want to put some trousers on before John gets home." Queenie smirked as Sherlock began to lift the Warrior from the ground, she was wearing just one of Sherlock's many shirts, her bra and a pair of panties, decorated with pandas.

"Any time, Love." She winked, before returning to the bedroom.

Queenie's power nap ended earlier than she had anticipated, allowing to her lie aimlessly in Sherlock's bed. She noted the smell of cigarettes and a musky scent she couldn't quite place. She slowly peeled herself out of the bed, needing the toilet and something to eat, bumping into John on the staircase as she wrapped Sherlock's red dressing gown around herself.

"Morning." John groaned.

"Need a hand?" She offered, seeing the large bags of food in hands.

"No, don't worry about me, I can manage." He entered the kitchen, while Queenie went directly into the living room, Sherlock was sitting at the desk, browsing on a laptop she was certain didn't belong to him.

"Is that my computer?" John questioned, taken aback.

"Of course." Sherlock replied, not looking up.

"What?"

"Mine is in the bedroom."

"What? And you couldn't be bothered to get up?"

"I was sleeping in the bedroom, in Sherlock's defence." She raised her hands in defence, "Did you get orange juice?" She walked towards the kitchen as John walked to Sherlock.

"And it's password protected."

"In a manner of speaking. Took me less than a minute to guess yours. Not exactly Fort Knox."

"221B, right?" Sherlock nodded in reply to Queenie's question, she peered into the bags, looking for a cartoon, through habit, she began to unpack the items.

"Right." John took the laptop from under Sherlock's hands, snapping it shut, "Thank you." Sherlock faltered, his concentration clearly broke, yet he attempted to regain it, placing his elbows on the table, his hands steepled as if in prayer with both index fingers on his lips.

"You're welcome." She smirked, watching John's scowling face. He sat himself in his chair, rifling through several bills.

"Oh," he cringed, looking at the red warnings, her face fell, "need to get a job."

"Oh dull." Sherlock sneered, lacing his fingers together. John mused momentarily.

"Listen, um," He began, a struggle in his mind showing on his face, "If you'd be able to lend me some..." He trailed off, as Queenie opened her mouth to speak, she was interrupted, "Sherlock, are you listening?"

"I need to go to the bank." Sherlock suddenly stood, John simply look bewildered and followed.

 _Trying to leave me here? As if._ Queenie thought to herself, leaving the half unpacked shopping on the table, grabbing her hoodie as she passed.

The feeling of being thoroughly under dressed in comparison to others was one Queenie was not unused to, she hadn't changed out of Sherlock's shirt or her day old leggings, whilst John wore a semi casual jacket and his jeans and Sherlock wore his typical shirt, trousers, scarf and Belstaff. With the edition of Queenie, the trio looked odd walking into the large bank.

"Yes, when you said you we were going to the bank..." John's bewildered expression made Queenie laugh, "You didn't have to come along."

"Oh, let her." Sherlock spoke before turning to the woman at the desk, "Sherlock Holmes."

The three were lead up several floors, Queenie receiving many odd looks, based purely on her clothes.

"Sherlock Holmes!" A voice cheered and Sebastian came into the office.

"Sebastian." Sherlock greeted, shaking his hand politely.

"Hiya, buddy." Queenie eyed him, observing his crisp blue suit and his watch, the time correct, the date, on the other hand, two days off, "How long has it been, eight years since I last clapped eyes on you? And you've got yourself a bird at last." He noticed Queenie looking innocent next to John, her face, which had been neutral, became a scowl.

"These are my friends, John Watson and his sister, Queenie."

"Friends?"

"Colleague." John corrected.

"Associate." Queenie replied, both Watsons shook Sebastian's hand, the youngest adorning an expression telling Sebastian that she was in no way interested in any relationship on her face, she peered at the watch, mentally filing the name

"Right." Sebastian sat behind his desk, "Grab a pew. Need anything, coffee, water?" None replied, "No?" He addressed his PA, "We're all sorted here, thanks."

"So, you're doing well." Sherlock commented, making himself comfortable, "You've been abroad a lot."

"Well, so?" He replied, a tone of modesty that was surely false. Sherlock concentrated on him.

"Flying all the way around the world twice in a month." A scoff escaped Sebastian's smirking mouth.

"Right. You're doing that thing." An arrogant smile twitched the corner of his mouth, "We were at uni together," He told the Watsons, "and this guy here - he had a trick he used to do."

"It's not a trick." Sherlock interrupted.

"He could look at you and tell your whole life story." He continued, paying no attention to Sherlock's remark.

"Yes, I've seen him do it." John nodded.

"Put the wind up everyone. We hated him." Sherlock seemed utterly undisturbed by the remark, having been made used to it long ago, John was silently pleased, whilst Queenie glared daggers at the man, remembering her months of training, desperately learning what Sherlock could do naturally with complete ease. Not noticing Queenie's eyes stabbing him, Sebastian continued, "You'd come to breakfast in the formal hall and this freak would know you'd been shagging the previous night."

"I simply observed." The detective spoke monotonously.

"It's not hard either." Queenie muttered, mentally listing the different signs of a hook-up:

Clothes, a day old and creased from being thrown off in a rush and being left on the floor all night.

Hair, often ruffled.

Knees, slightly dirty

Glances across the room, made more obvious by blushes spreading across the face.

Sebastian laughed.

"Go on. Enlighten me. 'Two trips a month, flying all round the world'. You're quite right. But how could you tell?" Sherlock opened his mouth and was interrupted by Sebastian, "Are you going to tell me there's a stain on my tie from some special kind of ketchup you can only buy in Manhattan?"

"No. I-" Sherlock attempted to speak again, a finger jabbing the side of his leg and a look from the woman on his right told him to not speak.

"Maybe it was the mud on my shoes?"

"Actually we were just chatting to your secretary about it outside. She told us." Queenie explained, feeling that she may as well do the thing, she added, "Quite a lovely lady." Sebastian laughed before his arrogant smile slid clean off his face, making Queenie smile broadly. His tone became business like.

"I'm glad you could make it over. We've had a break-in."

 **Posting a chapter in celebration of hitting 10k words on the Google doc file I have for Queen of Hearts, I'm about halfway through the ninth chapter, so I can update a lil bit more regularly than I'm writing!  
Also, happy valentine's day from England, it's nearing 1am here, and alas, I am single, boo.  
** **-Ellie**


	6. 4

Sebastian spelled out the situation, showing the three the computer screen, the security system on show.

"Every door that opens in this bank, it gets logged right here. Every walk-in closet. Every toilet." He explained.

"That door didn't open last night?" Sherlock correctly assumed.

"Obviously." Queenie rolled her eyes, earning her a half pleased, half frustrated twitch in the corner of Sherlock's mouth. Sebastian shook his head.

"There's a hole in our security. Find it and we'll pay you. Five figures." He pulled out a cheque from the inside pocket of his blazer. A look of slight shock flitted across the eldest Watson's face, while neither Queenie nor Sherlock paid an ounce of attention to the figure. "This is only an advance. Tell me how he got in - there's a bigger one on its way." He continued, despite Sherlock and Queenie's lack of interest.

"I don't need incentive, Sebastian." Sherlock walked away from the banker, Queenie shadowing him, John was quick to notice Sebastian's hand returning to his pocket.

"He's uh... He's kidding you, obviously. Shall I look after that for him?" He took the cheque from the other, "Thanks."

Queenie watched Sherlock examine the office. She put herself in the position of the perpetrate.

 _One minute, in and out, dead of night._

 _Splash paint around._

 _Alarmed doors, each and every door, no point hiding anywhere._

 _The other only way in or out?_

"The window!" She hissed, throwing the nearest window open and climbing through it, Sherlock overlooked her actions, taking pictures of the scene. A tiny balcony met her. Five floors, near vertical, the windows were bookended by beams, she leant over the balcony, placing her hand on one of the beams, she grinned. The beam could fit her hand.

Sherlock danced around the office floor, studying the graffiti from the different angles, distracting several people from their work as they stopped to stare, John and Queenie both hopelessly watching him dart to and from various pillars and screens and then, as suddenly as he had began his odd examination of the floor, he walked past the two Watsons, beckoning them to follow him to the stairs that would lead them to the exit of the building.

"'Two trips around the world this month.'" John began, "You didn't ask his Secretary. You-" He pointed at Queenie, "-said that just to irritate him."

"Guilty." She shared a smirk with Sherlock.

"How did you know?" He questioned.

"Did you see his watch?"

"His watch?" He probed, a sceptical tone in his voice

"The hands on his watch were correct but the date was wrong." Queenie supplied.

"It was set two days ago. He crossed the dateline twice and didn't alter it." Sherlock finished.

"Within a month? How did you get that part?"

"New Breitling." Sherlock and Queenie spoke simultaneously, "Only came out this February."

"Okay, you need to never do that again, that's genuinely terrifying." John shook his head, the other of the trio smirking silently to themselves, "You think we should sniff around here a bit longer?" He suggested.

"Got everything I need to know already, thanks."

"Hm?"

"The graffiti was a message for someone, right?" Queenie bit her lip, "That's what you were trying to work out."

"Someone working on the trading floors. We find the intending recipient and..." He trailed off, letting one of the Watsons finish his sentence.

"He'll to lead us to the person who sent it." John finished

"Obviously." A smirk played on Sherlock's lip as he listened to the siblings interact, identical scowls on both their faces.

"Well, there's hundred people up there, who was it meant for?"

"Pillars?" Queenie fished her phone out of her jacket pocket, feeling it vibrating.

"What?" She heard John's confused voice as she saw the several notifications, all of which from the same person, she sighed softly, knowing she would soon be his familiar face.

"The pillars. And the screens." Sherlock continued, "Very few places you could see that graffiti from. That narrows the field considerably. And, of course, the message was left at 11.34 last night. That tells us a lot."

"Does it?" John raised an eyebrow. They had reached the exit of the bank, Queenie on high alert, hiding herself behind Sherlock while simultaneously checking that there was no sign of her caller.

"Traders come to work at all hours." He persisted, a man stood by a car, looking at the bank doors, Queenie shrank behind Sherlock, mentally timing the agent, "Some people trade with Hong Kong in the middle of the night. That message was intended for someone who came in at midnight." He pulled a laminated sheet of paper out of his Belstaff, reading 'EDWARD VAN COON' in block capitals, "Not many Van Coon's in the phone book." The man had spotted Queenie.

"Ms Watson." He demanded imperiously.

"Dammit!" She hissed, "Go on without me." She told John and Sherlock monotonously, allowing herself to be escorted into the black car. The door slamming shut just in time for her to hear Sherlock hailing a taxi, "Where are we going then?"

"I think you already know." A female voice spoke.

"I hear you met my brother, called yourself, what alibi was it this time? Anthea?" She smiled at the mobile phone-ridden woman.

"I did and yes, it was."

"Awful alibi! Anthea means flowery, Florence means flowering." She sighed, "We were trained better than that."

"Perhaps you were." Florence raised an eyebrow, "Venice was nicer that Salamanca." She put her phone down, "How the hell do you know so many name meanings?"

"I've been at this longer than you, I was once Mycroft's car-bunny."

"Car-bunny?"

"Mm-hmm. It's a system, pick up someone who will flirt with you, ignore them, give them your alibi, tell Mycroft they flirted with you, have them murdered." She looked out the window, the streets had become considerably less packed and the buildings more dishevelled.

"Murdered?" Florence looked taken aback.

"Much like Mycroft, I am hugely dramatic." She grinned, "It's all in my character profile," She turned her nose up and put on a cruelly accurate impression of Mycroft's voice, "' _Doesn't know how to knock on a door or call someone on their mobile, goes out of her way to make my life awful, hugely dramatic._ '" The other laughed, Queenie returned to her normal voice, "As if he can talk anyway, which unused factory is it this time?" The car slowed and her eyes met a different building than she had been expecting, "A new one? How exciting."

 **Lol I last updated in February sorry for being trash but I have like nine chapters wrote in total sooo?**


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